


A Rookie Mistake

by Ki_ru



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cats, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, get your daily dose of sugar here, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-02 04:49:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13310904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ki_ru/pseuds/Ki_ru
Summary: When Rook discovers there's a stray cat close to the base, he decides to care for it and is quickly joined by Blitz as his co-conspirator.Though maybe it's not only the cat Rook wants to shower with love and affection.(Now with art! Check it out at the bottom♥)





	A Rookie Mistake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mi723](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mi723/gifts).



> \- and for her undying love of this ship. If you want to do her a favour (for motivating me to keep writing for this fandom), create art or fics for this pairing!  
> And if you want to do _me_ a favour, write anything at all for R6 :)

There is a cat.

The first time Rook sees it, they’re just leaving the base, one of his feet already in the helicopter, the other, hesitant, still on the concrete floor of the helipad. He just happens to glance around, his gaze falling on a bundle of ginger fur and attentive amber eyes and he completely forgets what he was doing. He used to have a tomcat that looked exactly like the one he’s staring at now, distracting him from his task at hand.

The task of entering the helicopter whose blades are already whirring impatiently.

As much as he prides himself on being a part of Rainbow, Rook does miss some mundane tasks that help him stay on the ground, be humble, centre himself. He would _love_ to tend to a pet, watch it grow and thrive under his care, receive and reciprocate his love, greet him whenever he comes home, console him when he had a bad day. Even just fish would suffice, he could watch them for hours, forget about his worries.

One ear twitches. The cat is still returning his gaze curiously. It is _adorable_.

Suddenly, the solid ground under him lurches, almost sending him spilling onto the floor. He flails, realises the helicopter is taking off to which he has all the rights, having left Rook ample time to board and yet he neglected to do so.

Someone grabs his wrist, pulls him forward and up and he half falls into the open cabin, lands on someone’s lap and holds onto them for support, momentarily off balance and disoriented. “What are you doing?”, a slightly irritated voice vibrates against his side, obviously belonging to his saviour, “don’t fall asleep, we need to leave.”

Rook turns to face his benefactor before he realises they’re _decidedly_ too close and almost smushes their noses into each other, staring Blitz in the face like he has no idea how he got here. All of a sudden, he’s acutely aware of the warm body beneath his own, the hand around his lower arm, the other hand gripping his thigh to prevent him from tumbling out of the ascending helicopter. The only thing that can save him now is a witty comment making light of the situation to overcome the awkwardness.

“I, uh”, he says.

Nailed it.

“C’mon, move over”, Blitz reminds him of the fact that sitting in someone’s lap doesn’t adhere to standard safety regulations, flashes him a good-natured smile and gently pushes him off. Not without squeezing his thigh first though. Blitz is always a little handsy, though less in the perverted kind of way and more friendly, supportive. The touch means nothing.

“There was a -”, Rook tries again and points in the direction of the feline, but they’re too high up and besides, it looks as if the cat has scarpered anyway. Dejectedly, he slides off Blitz’ lap into the seat next to him, pointedly ignoring the snickers from their fellow operators.

“And here you say I can’t get any”, Blitz turns to an amused IQ next to him, “while they’re falling for me left and right.”

Rook’s cheeks are crimson for the rest of the flight.

 

He gets caught. It doesn’t come as a surprise, not after he explicitly wrote cat food on their shopping list and made a lame excuse of wanting to pull a prank on Thatcher, not after he keeps stealing fresh meat and placing a water bowl somewhere near the base, not after he’s conspicuously absent for roughly the same time every day he can afford it. He claims to enjoy the walks and is astonished when the others buy into it.

Well, except for one of them.

Rook is sitting on warm asphalt, the evening sun making him sleepy, the cat stretched out on his legs purring up a storm. She’s relaxed and generously allows him to scratch her head and pet her slightly coarse fur that speaks of a rough outdoor life. Rook is pretty sure she’s got fleas, but doesn’t know what to do about it. She doesn’t seem to belong to anyone – except for Rook, that is –, yet he can’t help her either. Pets are not allowed in the base and semi-wild animals even less.

Footsteps approach, making him tense and turn around and pout when Blitz just chuckles at the sight of him. “ _This_ is what you’ve been doing?”, he asks incredulously and folds himself down next to Rook, crossing his legs. “I’ve had all sorts of suspicions, but this is it?”

“We’re not allowed to have pets”, Rook replies with a moue, feeling a jab of jealousy when the ginger instantly rubs against Blitz’ offered hand, purring even louder. He’s had to lure her in with food, _bribe_ her to be graced with her presence, and now that he’s earned her trust, she’s just throwing herself at the German next to him. He’s heard the popular belief that animals instinctively know whether a person is inherently good or not and while he tends to agree in this case, he’s slightly put off by what that would say about himself.

“And yet you’re quite obviously keeping one if you’re feeding it. Suddenly, the cat food makes a lot more sense. And we can finally stop asking Thatcher what his breakfast tastes like.”

They sit in companionable silence, showering the appreciative animal with affection and enjoying the mild summer evening.

“Did you give it a name yet?”, Blitz eventually asks as the ginger changes laps and starts kneading his jeans.

“It’s a she. And no, I haven’t. I just call her Cat.”

“That’s a terrible name”, Blitz informs him politely and lifts his hand so the cat who should be by all means insulted can rub her head against it.

“Ginger, then?”

“That’s even worse.” He laughs and looks after the animal in question when she jumps off and stalks away, tail happily pointing upwards. “Cat will do. She has fleas, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah. It’s not bad yet, but I wish I could do something about it.”

Blitz’ eyes are sparkling. “It’s my turn to go shopping next. How about I buy a carrier so we can catch her during the day, bring her in at night and treat her with dish soap? I hear it does wonders against fleas.”

Both of them know that the responsible alternative would be to catch her and deliver her to a local shelter – with how loving she is, chances are high that she’s an escaped house or outdoor cat, maybe someone is looking for her. And yet she strikes Rook as remarkably independent, possibly feasting on mice and rats, living a free life without any confinements. It’s enviable, in a way.

“You’re not going to tell anyone about her?”, Rook wants to know just to be sure.

“Of course not. What do you think of the plan?”

“Sounds exceptionally stupid”, he says, because it _is_.

And Blitz just grins. “Good. So we’ll do it the day after tomorrow.”

 

They end up not sleeping at all.

First, it’s the excitement, anticipation keeping Rook awake and counting the minutes until he can finally get up and sneak out of his room. He meets up with Blitz in the hallway and already it’s incredibly hard just to stay quiet, with Rook getting a bad case of the giggles like he’s thirteen and about to watch a film for which he’s barely too young and Blitz sounding like one of those squeaky dog toys or maybe an exotic kind of bird while trying to suppress his laughter, sending Rook into fits every time he does it.

It’s absolutely absurd. They’re creeping around a well-armed base at night to _bathe a cat_.

God only knows where Blitz managed to get a hold of the pass codes, but they’re out and back in minutes, clutching a carrier with a surprisingly docile cat, several towels and a bottle of dish soap. They decide the roomy kitchen sink is their best option, close all doors and windows and pour the ginger into said sink.

Only then do they realise they have no idea what they’re doing.

Blitz’ family only owned dogs who react to water by either enthusiastically embracing it or accepting their inevitable doom while cowering down, and Rook’s tomcat only came into contact with water when he was drinking. They stare at the cat. The cat stares back, unblinking, suspicious but not yet disgruntled.

Impulsively, Rook turns the tap on and it’s about then that everything derails.

The next hour, they wrestle with a now _panicked_ cat, coating almost every surface in the kitchen either with soap, cat hair, water dripping off cat hair or their own blood, meaning they’ll have to disinfect _everything_ afterwards. Several times, the animal escapes and/or leaves big gashes in lower arms and hands, but in the end, they manage to wrap her in some towels and talk her down like she’s a child throwing a tantrum. The fleas are gone but so is the patience of everyone involved.

Still, they spend the rest of the night cleaning up and feeding the traumatised cat, petting her gently and soothing her and their own nerves. At the very end, they bandage each other, Blitz’ fingers warm and careful, their feeling lingering on Rook’s abused skin. They even joke about the ordeal, their own stupidity and it’s absolutely worth it.

 

Blitz gets shot. Several times, in fact, though only one bullet really hits him, the others either merely grazing skin, embedding themselves in his shield and the trauma plates Rook dutifully delivered to him before the mission, or ping off his helmet. The one that burrows into his flesh does so in his lower leg, hitting part of the bone and pushing fractures of it into muscle, leaving him in agonising pain and reducing his usually confident stride to a mere hobble.

He plays it off, even makes a pun (“I can’t _stand_ getting shot”), but underneath, he is seething. Rook thinks he knows the reason, which is why he avoids him the next few days – or rather avoids being alone with him, of course he visits him and accompanies him on unsteady walks on crutches Blitz shouldn’t be doing but is going to anyway, provides him with books and small pieces of candy and even manages to take a photo of the cat which he shows him secretly while everyone else is distracted.

When he dares to go see him on his own, he expects Blitz’ anger to have waned, a severe scolding to be replaced by friendly advice. Boy, is he mistaken.

As soon as he enters the room, Blitz’ eyes are on him, unforgiving and hard, as if he’s been waiting for this moment. “Don’t _ever_ do that again”, he says. He’s furious and it surfaces in the firm tone of his voice, his surprisingly calm yet distanced manner. He doesn’t yell, doesn’t hiss. At least he isn’t _disappointed_.

Rook falters. He was ready to defend himself, has been rehearsing his explanation for days, hoping he wouldn’t have to use it. Instead, he lowers his gaze. He has one weapon left: deference. “Yes, sir”, he replies.

Instantly, Blitz is stymied. He sputters a little, sits up straighter and seems to regret his stern words before settling on a soft: “Rook.” He looks up, is met with an unfamiliar emotion in Blitz’ face. “You could have gotten that woman killed. You could’ve gotten yourself killed. You know this. Don’t be like that.”

“I had a call to make between leaving you behind and safely delivering the hostage or sticking around and disposing of enemies too numerous for you to deal with. I was in cover. The woman was in cover.”

Blitz is shaking his head. “That wasn’t your call to make. And besides, I’d already made it at that point. Didn’t I tell you to run and not look back, no matter what? It was a direct order. I was bringing up the rear, it’s my _job_ to act as a shield between you and them.”

“If I’d stopped sooner, you wouldn’t have gotten shot.”

“In that case I would’ve gotten shot even earlier because I’d have been just as distracted by telling you to _go_ as I was now. When you have received your orders, you’re expected to follow them to the letter.”

“You could’ve trusted me not to endanger myself or any civilians by my actions. You know I wouldn’t do that.”

“Rook, this isn’t about hindsight, this is about following orders. Are you uncomfortable with me being the one who delivers them to you?”

“Yes”, Rook says with a frown, “because your orders often put yourself in unnecessary danger. I will openly admit I’m not comfortable with that.”

Blitz sighs deeply and Rook thinks it’s only partially exasperation. He knows he’s right. “Maybe you should be assigned to Sledge’s team then”, he suggests softly.

Rook leaves abruptly. For the entire time that Blitz recuperates, he doesn’t visit him again.

 

The cat gains weight until she looks perfectly healthy and whenever Rook sees her, she meows at him demandingly to disentangle her fur with the brush he hides near their meeting point. He doesn’t visit her daily yet she always seems to be there when he is, pretending it’s a coincidence and crying until he brushes her, to which she purrs contentedly and falls asleep in his lap.

Fortunately, the fleas don’t reappear. He doesn’t think the cat would allow him to put her into the carrier again.

She becomes his agony aunt. He complains about all there is to complain about, but mostly he tells her about Blitz. How they used to be friendly, friends even, sharing laughs and time and memories. The past week they’ve barely said a word to each other. When they go on missions, it’s “over there” and “yes” and “I got it” and “Rook, you’re with IQ” like he’s assigning someone else to deal with an unruly kid. And the ginger just blinks at him tiredly.

Then, one day, she’s not there. She doesn’t appear when he calls her either, or even when he takes out the brush – nothing.

Rook becomes worried. There’s only one person whom he could ask for help without having to fear endless teasing for basically leading a double life as a secret cat brusher when he isn’t killing terrorists, but it’s the single person he _doesn’t_ want to ask. Instead, he wanders around aimlessly, debating whether he should tell Kapkan he saw a lynx just so he can maybe track her footprints.

A meow. Quiet, but distinct. He changes direction, follows it, hears it again, corrects his course. It takes him to a group of tall trees, vibrant and green and with low-hanging branches that almost invite him for a climb. Which seems to be exactly what the cat did.

She’s perched a few metres up, sitting against the solid trunk and crying for help, obviously unable to find her way back. She looks pitiful and lost and it almost breaks Rook’s heart. He doesn’t dawdle, instead steps on a thick branch that doesn’t bend under his weight and grabs for another, pulls himself up, trying to stay out of the dense foliage to allow for a clear view.

He’s never been that big of a climber, always preferred to run freely instead, but he’s decent at it. It’s been a while since his last ascent, though the drill is familiar: move feet up, test footing, grab, pull, identify next step, move feet. It’s mindless and relaxing in a way, especially since the end result will be a pacified cat where there’s only a scared one now.

He pauses and cranes his neck to find her, only to realise she’s moved higher up. “Seriously?”, he asks her reproachfully. She lets out a pathetic meow, all fear. He glances down and has to steady himself – he’s much higher than he thought he was. He could go back to the base and try to find equipment that would facilitate his climb, but he might get caught and have to explain himself. He could also just continue, it isn’t far now.

He decides to keep going, climbs further up and begins to feel the strain in his muscles. He checks where the cat is again.

No way.

His foot slips and for a fraction of a second he feels like he’s falling, adrenaline spiking and heart beating frantically, yet his fists grab the branch he was lightly holding on to and refuse to let go. He dangles precariously for a moment during which he decides he’s _not_ climbing higher and he should probably just ask Blitz for help, then his feet find support again and he very reluctantly eases his grip. He makes the mistake of looking down. He’s standing close to the trunk so his view of the ground is unobstructed.

It’s _very_ far down.

Rook wills his body to move, has to convince his arms to grab a lower branch, tries to step down the way he came. He slips again, a result of the residual shock, only this time his palms are also slippery and he ends up just finding a safe place to sit and _breathe_. He has to accept his fate.

The cat meows.

“Me too, buddy”, Rook whispers.

They’re stuck.

 

Someone’s there – Rook saw motion, a glimpse of blue, and relief overtakes him. He doesn’t care anymore that his reputation is never going to recover from this, he just wants _down_ and never have to climb a tree ever again. He calls out, sees the figure stop and look around confusedly, watches it morph into _Blitz_ of all people and calls for help again.

Even at this distance, he can clearly see Blitz do a double take. “What the hell are you doing?!”, he yells and sounds about as disbelieving to see Rook up in a random tree as Rook is to find himself in this situation.

“The cat got stuck”, he shouts back.

Blitz needs a moment to parse this information. “Can you climb down on your own?”

Rook looks up at the ginger who’s actually _cleaning_ herself, then back down to the concerned Blitz. “No?”

A pause. “I’ll get you down. Don’t go anywhere!”

It’s a cheap joke, predictable, but it loosens Rook’s desperate grip a little and eases the pressure in his chest. Blitz hurries off and he turns to the cat above him: “How much do you want to bet that he’s saving me first?”

The feline is unconcerned.

 

Blitz does, in fact, _not_ save Rook first. After he’s made sure the grappling hook won’t spontaneously come loose and had Rook confirm this, Blitz walks up the trunk like he would any other wall, only with more scowling. When he’s at Rook’s level, he looks him straight in the eye and tells him: “You’re an idiot.” Then he keeps walking.

“Wait, what are you doing?”, Rook asks, trying not to sound panicked and failing.

“What you tried to do, only in smart”, comes the laconic reply. The cat, the traitor, watches Blitz curiously and goes limp in his grasp instead of climbing higher, allowing him to extract her effortlessly and hold her close on the way down. He releases her and she curls up in the nearest sun spot, unbothered by all the misery she caused.

Once Blitz is back up, Rook eyes him dubiously. “How… exactly are you picturing this in your mind? Why didn’t you bring another harness?”

“If you can’t go back down the way you came, I figured you didn’t want to squeeze into a harness this high up. Hold tight, I won’t drop you. It won’t take long.”

He shakes his head emphatically. “No chance. You want me to… just _hold on_? That hardly sounds better than climbing down on my own.”

“It’ll be fine, just trust me.” Blitz realises what he’s asking straightaway and has the decency to look embarrassed, even while hanging on the side of a tree out of which he’s trying to talk a terrified Frenchman. “Rook. I’m sorry. Can I explain?”

He nods curtly.

“During operations, I need to be absolutely sure that my orders will be followed. If you feel I’m misjudging a situation, do what I say first and complain later. During, if you’d like. But do it, that is all I ask. If another situation had come up, I would’ve assigned you to Sledge, so I assume it was a one time thing. I apologise for my behaviour, I know you’re normally focused and -”

“I let my feelings get in the way of work”, Rook interrupts him because he can’t take it anymore, is tired of the skirting and dancing around and he assumes Blitz _knows_ anyway, which is why he’s being so careful not to upset him right now. “It’s not going to happen again, I apologise as well. Can we get out of this stupid tree now because I’m actually getting hungry and -”

He stops. Blitz’ cheeks have turned an endearing shade of pink for some reason and he’s gaping at Rook as if he shapeshifted into a second tree. “You mean -” He makes an obscure gesture that leaves Rook blinking at him incomprehensibly. “That you, uh -”

They stare at each other. The wind softly rustles the leaves around them.

 _Shit_ , thinks Rook.

Well, if he didn’t know before, he knows now. Suddenly, they’re both talking at once: “I didn’t -”

“So you -”

“It was -”

“How about we get down this blasted thing first?”, Blitz finally suggests and Rook agrees readily, nodding so fast he gets dizzy for a second and suspecting he’s blushing as well now. Still, the question as to _how_ hasn’t been answered to his satisfaction, the ground is light years away and Rook would prefer not ending up as a human pancake. For the moment, his immediate safety takes precedence over his embarrassment. “Okay. Like I said, I won’t drop you, come here.”

Blitz shuffles closer to him, an open invitation to embrace and wrap around his solid body that prompts Rook’s heart to speed up. Reluctantly, his grip loosens and he searches Blitz’ face to find a reassuring smile that provides him with the courage he needs to awkwardly turn towards him. Vertigo takes a hold of him and turns his knees into goo but Blitz confidently pulls him into his arms so Rook has no choice but to throw his arms around him and swing one of his legs over Blitz’ and suddenly they’re freely hanging on the side of the tree, a sturdy rope the only thing keeping them from falling.

They’ve not been this close before, their previous hugs never this tight. Rook crosses his legs behind Blitz’ back, buries his face in the crook of his neck to hide from his watchful and fond gaze, and is acutely aware of warm skin under his nose, body heat, measured breaths and the arms around his torso, supporting him.

Nothing happens. Blitz keeps standing on the trunk, Rook clinging to him like a monkey, the rope taut between their bodies.

“Rook, are you afraid of heights?”, a gentle voice asks unfamiliarly close, the soft air brushing his ear making his body tingle.

“No”, he lies through his teeth and tightens his grip when he feels the sensation of slipping slowly. “Why aren’t you moving?”

“I can’t rappel like this.” An arm wants to chastely support the backs of his thighs, hold him up in an entirely innocent gesture but Rook is wrapped around him in a way that the arm lays across his backside instead and suddenly, his heart is _pounding_. “You need to move a little.”

He usually doesn’t run into this problem, his trepidation is manageable due to the knowledge of being safe: he’s got a parachute, his harness is reliable, he knows he won’t get hurt. In this case, he has nothing to hold on to but Blitz, he might as well be floating unsupported in mid-air. It doesn’t help that Blitz is basically fondling him and they’re so close that Rook can _smell_ him. The last thing he wants to do now is look him in the eyes.

Yet, he moves. “That’s it”, says Blitz who sounds suspiciously short of breath and like someone talking down a frightened animal, only he _keeps talking_ while Rook is leaning back to allow for enough room, “there you go. Nice and slow.” And by then it’s not an animal Rook pictures in his mind _at all_. He stares at Blitz accusingly. “What?”

Of course, he doesn’t realise he’s doing it. Rook mumbles a “nothing” in response and fists his hand into his sweater. Now he’s precariously balanced mostly on Blitz’ legs though he thinks he’ll be fine like this. That is, until they begin their descent. Because he notices much too late that their lower bodies are pressed together and the motions of Blitz carefully lowering them to safety make it seem as if Rook was _riding_ him and _oh God_.

When they’re back on the ground, he’s flushed and flustered and feels Blitz’ eyes on him. He wants to flee, escape his scrutiny and forget this entire thing happened but Blitz refuses to leave his personal space, keeps him in place with a hand on his side and a serious expression. “Are you alright?”

He’s tense still and only relaxes when the hand on his side becomes a hand on his cheek, a thumb brushing over a cheekbone and Blitz’s face is right in front of his own and how did they get here? Their lips touch and heads tilt and noses brush, it’s short and sweet and Rook loses the ability to breathe.

After a pause in which Blitz looks at him as if he had some kind of revelation and Rook probably looks back like Blitz hung the moon, Blitz kisses him again of his own accord, just leans right in and locks their lips, initiates a languid slide of mouths that Rook feels in his fingertips, his belly, his thighs. It’s less tentative now, deliberate. The setting sun warms his legs, a birdsong echoes in the distance, leaves flutter in a short gust. The sensation, all of it, feels eternal.

“Blitz”, he mumbles against another mouth, loath to disturb the atmosphere yet unable to contain his uncertainty. A questioning hum is his reply. “What are you doing?”

The other man doesn’t break the kiss, maintains lip contact during his answer. “I don’t know. But I’m glad I’m doing it.”

Rook huffs a laugh and pulls him further in, allows him access to his tongue, content just to continue a little longer. Blitz knows, he finally knows and he’s kissing him regardless or maybe _because_. It’s heady and magical and he misses him already when he pulls back an entire eternity later.

“We should probably head back”, Blitz says. Rook nods. They don’t move.

Behind them, the cat demands attention with an accusatory meow.

“She wants me to brush her”, Rook says. Blitz nods. They’re not moving.

“Can we – I mean, we can, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to -”

He’s starting to fidget, fingers painting meaningless patterns on Rook’s lower back. Rook decides it’s time for blunt honesty. “Blitz. I like you.”

For some reason, the German looks _relieved_. As if there’s still any room for doubt. “I like you too”, he responds sheepishly.

Rook gathered as much, yet is helpless against the smile stretching his lips. “If you want, we can stay a bit longer.”

“Yes. I’d like that.” Blitz lowers his eyes surreptitiously and adds, more quietly: “It’s not like you can go back like this.”

Instantly, Rook’s cheeks heat up. “Don’t – don’t draw attention to – it won’t go away then.”

Blitz opens his mouth. He looks down again. Hesitates. Closes his mouth. Rook stares at him so intently it feels like his eyes are going to pop out of their sockets every second now. Mentally, he _dares_ Blitz to say it. “I could help you.”

There it is. It’s a wonder Rook doesn’t end up with whiplash from nodding so vehemently. He’s _very_ much in favour of Blitz helping him in any way he can, say, by extending a leg so he can hump it, though he hopes for, expects something a little more hands-on. Therefore, when Blitz sinks down to his knees instead, Rook is _aghast_. “What are you _doing_?”, he hisses and instinctively looks around – a hand in his pants can be easily concealed, but _this_ is undoubtedly more problematic.

“I told you.” Blitz’ fingers hook into the waistband of Rook’s tracksuit bottoms. “I don’t know.” And suddenly, there’s cool air in his groin and Blitz is faced with his erect member. This is not how Rook imagined it to go, especially when Blitz visibly pauses and eyes the stiff flesh in front of him uncertainly. He’s adorable and captivating at the same time and Rook thinks: _He’s going to kill me. I’m going to die if he actually -_

Blitz leans forward slightly and mouths at the side of his penis. The sight alone is enough to make Rook sway precariously so he presses his back against the tree trunk behind him, the root of all evil, suddenly glad for its support. His breath gets caught in his throat as Blitz actually wraps his lips around him, tonguing his slit and allowing him deeper into the elating wet heat of his mouth but what finally slays Rook is the ingenuous and trusting look in Blitz’ eyes as he glances up as if to make sure he’s not doing anything incorrectly.

It’s obvious he’s inexperienced yet somehow that makes it even sweeter. He’s attentive, memorises the actions that elicit suppressed noises and repeats them, strings them together devotedly and meticulously reduces Rook to a trembling bundle of nerves. His tongue is merciless and even if he doesn’t go deep, one of his hands joins his eagerly learning mouth and works on his shaft, pulling him closer and closer towards the edge. He’s inexorable in his ministrations.

Rook is lost, attempts to focus on all sensations at the same time, tangles his fingers in Blitz’ hair, watches him, captivated. He’s in slight disbelief still that this beautiful man in front of him has decided Rook is worthy of his attention, his care, his… feelings. It’s going to his head, amplifying his pleasure and before he knows it, his climax slams through him like a moderate explosion. He gasps, tenses, notices how Blitz’ eyes widen, curses at himself and hastily pulls his head back as to not get any more in his mouth, only this leads to him painting Blitz’ face instead and _dear God this is hot_.

While Rook sounds like he just ran a marathon and still shudders with aftershocks, Blitz is an absolute _angel_. He swallows and licks more of the milky liquid out of the corner of his mouth, sits back on his heels and beams at Rook with such a goofy and proud and _affectionate_ expression it’s a miracle Rook is able to stay on his feet. _I’m dead_ , he thinks hopelessly, _I’m dead and I’ve gone to heaven_.

The day before, they hardly spoke and now this happened. Rook’s attention is momentarily drawn to movement in his peripheral vision: the cat is stretching, blinks at him contently and then trots off, apparently has decided that she’s seen enough.

Since today is Christmas and Rook’s birthday and all sorts of other holidays combined, Blitz kisses him breathless after cleaning up, snuggles up to him, leans into Rook’s loving touches and hums happily while he’s being stroked and embraced and caressed. He’s always been touchy-feely, but evidently it goes further than that – cuddling seems to invigorate him.

When they really can’t justify not returning to the base anymore, they collect their utensils and start heading back. Still, there’s one question Rook can no longer hold in: “What about you?” He looks at Blitz’ crotch pointedly and is rewarded with pink cheeks. He’s wearing his usual jeans which conceal his arousal well enough if you don’t look too hard, but he enjoys seeing his team leader squirm.

“I’m, uh, fine. Don’t worry about it. We can – another time. I don’t – it’s fine”, Blitz stammers and puts in an entirely misguided effort to sound casual. A second later, he takes a suspiciously long step and adjusts his trousers. Rook suppresses a laugh.

He’ll proceed to care for the ginger cat, no doubt, but maybe he’s found another pet to coddle. He brushes his hand against Blitz’ and smiles when he laces their fingers together.

**Author's Note:**

> A friend drew [beautiful art of the two rappelling](https://blitznbandit.tumblr.com/post/169839800170/hey-so-like-if-you-havent-read-this-yet-please-do)! Check it out and adore it because it's _stunning_ ♥


End file.
